A Maybe Malfoy
by Honey Almond Chocolate
Summary: A question. An answer he never wanted. A lesson taught. Lucius Malfoy decides to teach six-year old Draco the hierarchy of the wizarding world, but only succeeds in further distancing the two of them. Rated T for violence.


_OMG hey y'all this is my very first fic! I know Bellatrix is supposed to be in jail by then, but it IS my first fic. So please go easy and please review! :D ~ Honey Almond Chocolate_

12/26/12- Just forgot to add that this fic was inspired by the song Bronte by Gotye! It's a good song, listen to it! :D

**A Maybe Malfoy**

The dirt was firm and hard against Draco's naked six-year-old feet, but they didn't linger to relish the cool, springy earth. The balls of his feet didn't touch the ground for more than half a second at a time. Why, he was nearly flying around the orchard... if only his father could see him now!

"Draco!" a voice called. Draco's feet skidded to a halt. "Daddy?"

"Don't call me that, Draco, it's juvenile." Now Draco could see his father striding toward him beneath the outstretched, graceful boughs of the fig trees.

"Sorry, Father." Draco was too excited to really care about his father's rebuke, though it did sting a little. But he was used to it. "Didja see me? I was zooming round the orchard so fast! I think I'm gonna be a runner when I grow up."

Lucius Malfoy smiled. It wasn't a nice smile; more like a someday-you'll-look-back-on-this-and-realise-how-ridiculous-you're-being smile. "Draco, Draco, Draco," he said in a condescending tone. Reaching up to pluck a fig from a ripe branch, he continued, "You see this fig? Figs are wonderful fruits. Does a fig ever wish it were a lemon or a banana? Of course not. And neither should you."

"But lemons are yucky! I don't want to be a lemon," Draco joked, watching his father's face for any signs of amusement. He saw none.

"Draco," his father growled through his teeth. "The point is, the fig is not a lemon. Nor is it a banana. Nor is it anything but a fig. And neither are you anything but a Malfoy. And Malfoys don't become runners!"

He turned to go, but the question slipped out of Draco's mouth before he could stop it. "Why not?"

Lucius stopped, but didn't turn around. "Draco, running is a Muggle sport." The patronizing voice he had used before was back, like he couldn't believe Draco actually dared to be such a moron.

"So?" Draco asked. He knew he was pushing it, but for once his father was paying him attention, and bad attention was better than none at all... right?

Now Draco's father turned around, very, very slowly. There was disbelief and disgust etched all over his face. He gave a cold, mirthless laugh. "Draco, that isn't funny. One would almost think you weren't joking!"

Draco hadn't been joking, but his father seemed to think he had been. "Well, I was joking," he lied, since that was what his father seemed to expect of him.

"Good," Lucius said shortly. Turning on his heel, he strode off back the way he had come.

Draco felt the smile slip from his face. He kicked the ground morosely. He didn't know what he had done wrong, but whatever it was, it must have been very bad of him.

_No wonder your daddy hates you,_ a tiny little voice inside of him said meanly._ Look at you. You're a twat. A regular girl.__  
_  
Draco bit his lip hard, but a solitary, rebellious tear snaked its way down his cheek. He squeezed his eyes shut in regret. Once his daddy saw the tear track, he would be in trouble.

_Muggles must be awful_, Draco thought. _That could be the only reason his father didn't think running was a good career option.__  
_  
He had to admit, he was a little disappointed. He had expected that, after seeing Draco run that fast, Lucius would be proud of him.

Draco would just have to take up another sport, a magical one. Something like Quidditch. He headed toward the broom shed.

As he grabbed his top-of-the-line Comet Two Sixty, he noticed some movement at the back of the shed. Peeking around an ancient Shooting Star, he was astonished to find a quivering little dog. Draco squatted on his heels and stared at the dog. How had it gotten in? Their family's broom shed had so many anti-burglar charms on it, he doubted so much as a mosquito could get in without everybody for half a mile around knowing immediately.

Yet here the dog was. Sitting up on its hind legs and cocking its head to one side, it almost looked as though it could talk. It was a sandy brown, except for a white patch between its ears. It looked like a terrier mix and was the most scruffy, disreputable-looking dog he'd ever seen. Draco loved it immediately. He scooped it up in his arms and set off to find his father.

Lucius Malfoy looked through cold grey eyes at his son. His lip curled. "So you want a dog, do you, son? You aren't getting soft now, are you? Soon you'll be singing it a lullaby every night and tucking it into bed! Draco, you are a Malfoy. And Malfoys simply don't hold with nonsense like this." Lucius took a deep breath. "In fact, Draco, this is the perfect time to teach you a little lesson every well-brought-up wizard needs to know." He coughed into his fist before turning to his wife, Narcissa Malfoy. "Narcissa, call your sister. She has a job to do, if you will."

"I'm here." Draco shuddered violently in shock as his aunt stepped out from the shadows. He hadn't seen her when he had come into his father's study, clutching the terrier to him. Lucius blinked.

Bellatrix Lestrange was good at hiding; this was proven by the fact that the Ministry's top Aurors had been searching for her for nearly five years, ever since she had tortured Frank and Alice Longbottom, who were Aurors themselves, to insanity.

Draco knew all this from listening to his parents' conversations. His father had a habit of talking rather loudly when he got angry, as he always did when discussing his sister-in-law with Narcissa. He didn't like Bellatrix much, so it came as a surprise when Lucius turned to his wife and asked if she could leave.

Narcissa stared hard at her husband, wetting her lips with her tongue. Lucius stared back at her, silently challenging her to refuse. Finally Narcissa relented and looked away. Her gaze fell on Draco, and for a second her eyes held sadness, but then she left, leaving Draco alone with his father and aunt.

"Draco," Lucius spoke, his eyes steely. "Hand over the dog."

Meekly, Draco held out the small terrier. Aunt Bellatrix swooped down and snatched it up. It yelped pitifully.

Lucius sat down in a leather armchair with a sigh. "Draco, how many types of wizards do you think there are?"

Draco hesitated. "One?"

"No, there are three. Purebloods, that's us, half-bloods, and Mudbloods," his father continued wearily. "When you go to Hogwarts, I only want you associating with purebloods and half-bloods. Mostly purebloods, if you can help it.

"Purebloods are wizards who come from a family of only wizards, like us. This makes you more pure; higher than half-bloods or Mudbloods. Half-bloods are tainted; they have mixed blood. And Mudbloods-" Lucius sneered with much the same expression he had when he had looked at the dog now whimpering nervously on the floor. "Mudbloods are the worst of the lot. They are conniving, wicked Muggles who steal witches' and wizards' magic and use it for their own selfish purposes." Draco listened intently, his mouth open. Never had he known Muggles could do that.

"You see this dog?" Lucius nudged the terrier on the floor with his boot. "This isn't a purebred, or even a mix of two purebreds. It's a mutt, the lowest of the low." Beckoning Bellatrix forward, he said, "Your aunt here is going to show to you what Mudbloods deserve."

Bellatrix lifted her wand and pointed it directly at the dog. Draco felt a sudden chill down his back. "Crucio."

At once, the little terrier began to convulse on the ground in pain, snapping desperately at thin air, beating its paw against the floor. Soon it started to bite its own tail. Its eyes bulged and foam dribbled from its mouth. And then it started to scream, loud and clear, just like a human. Draco tried to figure out how it was making that sound. He hadn't known animals could scream.

Then Bellatrix jabbed her wand at the quaking dog with one last spell shouted to the heavens- "Avada Kedavra!" Instantly the dog went limp. It was dead.

Still the piercing scream went on, and with a start Draco realised it had been him who was screaming, not the dog. He snapped his mouth shut, but not before fat tears cascaded down his cheeks.

Bellatrix watched the crying six-year-old rush to the dead animal's body. _What, did he expect it to still be alive? _she thought with amusement. _Maybe-_ she chuckled slightly- _maybe the boy planned to bury it, like the sentimental fool he was._

_Still, he had a point,_ she mused. _Wouldn't do to have a dead dog lying in the middle of the drawing room._So, with a flick of her wand, she Vanished the corpse, and cackled at her nephew's cry of anguish.

Draco let his tears flow freely. Who did she think she was? She didn't even belong in his house. She belonged in Azkaban. He turned to his father beseechingly. Surely Lucius hadn't expected Bellatrix to do something like that!

Lucius Malfoy looked down at his son's reddened, tearstained face. Bending over, he slapped Draco's cheek. Hard. When Draco continued to cry, astonished, he slapped the other cheek even harder.

His face close to the boy's, he hissed, "Stop that snivelling at once, Draco! You're a Malfoy, and Malfoys. Don't. Cry!" With a final look of disgust, Lucius walked away, leaving Draco shocked.

_Malfoys don't do this. Malfoys don't do that,_ Draco thought bitterly. Maybe he wasn't a real Malfoy, then. Maybe he was a pretend Malfoy, a sorry replacement for the son Lucius wished to have. Maybe he was a sometimes Malfoy, a part-time Malfoy. One thing was for sure- right now, Draco didn't feel like a true Malfoy. More like a maybe Malfoy._  
_

Eleven years later, Draco stood in front of three prisoners, feeling sick. Their hands were lashed cruelly together, and their faces were so weak and desperate Draco's gut churned to look at them. Not because he hated them, which everyone seemed to expect him to do, but because of the choice which was presently looming over him.

"Well, Draco? Is it? Is it Harry Potter?" Lucius sounded excited. Excited for their prisoners' suffering, excited to please his master- and now, Draco's master as well. Draco cast the smallest glance at the boy in front of him. He had the same jet-black hair and glasses as Potter. Draco couldn't make out his eyes, his face was so distorted. There was something on his forehead that could be a scar, but could just as easily be a trick of the light.

And the two people with him? If they weren't Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger, then they were their twins. Yes, Draco was sure that these people were the ones everybody had been looking for, and he opened his mouth to say so, but instead of confirmation, Draco found himself choking out, "I can't- I can't be sure."

Why was he so reluctant to identify his former classmate and enemy? Draco wondered as Lucius babbled some twaddle about being forgiven. It wasn't that he didn't know it was them for sure, because he did know.

But then all at once, a memory of a dog came rushing into his head. A dog he could have loved, if it hadn't been what it was. And now Draco knew why he had hesitated. What had happened eleven years earlier was about to repeat itself, he was sure. Except this time, the Cruciatus curse would be performed on humans. And why? Because they didn't fit within the Dark Lord's twisted idea of a perfect world. Blood traitors, Mudbloods, and of course the Boy Who Lived- Draco had been brought up to hate all these people. And he did hate them, with a passion, but did he hate them so much he wanted them tortured? Dead? Draco wasn't sure anymore.

"What is this? What's going on, Cissy?" Bile rose up in Draco's throat as the cold, cruel voice of Bellatrix Lestrange rang sharply through the room.

He could sense Harry, Ron, and Hermione's fear. He didn't blame them. If Bellatrix did to them what she had done to that little terrier... And then the only thing important to Draco was keeping the contents of his stomach firmly where they were.

After much shouting amongst his parents and aunt, and a few muttered words from himself, they took the two boys downstairs. Granger was left upstairs. Alone.

Draco knew very well what was going to happen, and he hated himself for not doing anything. What sort of Malfoy was he? When he wanted to be a Malfoy, he could not be, and when he didn't want to be a Malfoy, he had to be. He really was a maybe Malfoy.

As the screaming began, Draco closed his eyes tightly, almost feeling the pain she was feeling. Hating himself and wishing to be anywhere but here, Draco turned away.


End file.
